BURN (Wattys2015?)

sunup and sundown

The sun was going down. Or maybe it was going up, I wasn't sure. I just knew that somewhere out my window, the sun was moving across the sky. Didn't matter if it was going up or going down. I didn't really care.
I was lying on my bed, sweaty and sticky and still. I stared up at the rickety ceiling fan, watching it spin round and round. It moved so fast and shook so much I thought it would fly off the ceiling and impale me at any moment. I kind of wanted it to.
What day was it? It felt like a Tuesday. But I think it was a Sunday. I wasn't sure. I had long since lost track of the days.
My days just all sort of ran together. Time meant nothing to me. It was all numbers, letters, words and phrases and I just didn't care.
I had realized that it didn't matter what I did, the sun would go down and the sun would come up and the days would turn into nights and the night into dawn...it didn't matter if I did anything, because the world was still going to move on with or without me.
I just laid there.
The mornings turned into afternoons and the afternoons passed into evenings and the evenings into nights and the nights into dawn. And I would get a sudden burst of guilt, because I realized that I had done absolutely nothing but stare at the ceiling all day. But the guilt would pass just like the day had passed and I would be left wondering where the day had gone and why I didn't feel like doing anything anymore.
I thought about a lot while I lay there on my back, staring at the ceiling fan that threatened an early death for me. And then again, I thought about nothing at all. I was everything and nothing all at once. I was alive and yet I was so dead.
My window was open. It let in the cold and the wind and the rain and the heat.
Hot rain would blow in and splatter on my face and all I would do was blink it out of my eyes, otherwise I just sat there and ignored it. I didn't care.
The cool night air would roll inside, bringing a swarm of gnats and mosquitoes who tried to fill every orifice on my body, biting and crawling and being just damn annoying but I played dead and ignored it. Again, I didn't care.
I had apathy for everyone and everything. I didn't eat, didn't sleep, didn't answer my phone or my door. I just stared at the ceiling.
I couldn't remember when I first laid down and decided not to get back up, and I didn't know why I felt so weird. I was tired and sad and happy and nothing and in pain and numb all at once. I don't think I was depressed, but then again what do I know? I wasn't suicidal, because suicide would require getting out of bed to kill myself, and I wasn't in the mood for that.
The only way to describe myself as accurately as possible is to call myself a void. That's the only way I can think of to word it.
I don't know how long I was lying there, rotting into myself. Because I was neither here nor there. I could have been laying there for a week, or several days, or just a few minutes. Like I said, time meant absolutely nothing to me.
I think it was a Tuesday (or a Wednesday?) when I heard the click of a key turning in my door.
I was sweaty, melting into my bed as the sticky Memphis heat roared through my window and beat me senseless. The ceiling fan was struggling to cut through the thick humidity, and I was just praying for it to fly off and impale me because God, I was bored.
I heard heels clicking on the wooden floor that I hadn't cleaned in days, and carefully maneuver around the mess of my room. I flicked my gaze from the ceiling fan to the person, but they weren't quite in my line of vision. I wasn't about to move and crane my neck just to see them, so I went back to the fan. I had named the fan Porcelina, a name I made up. I like how it sounded like bells.
The person said something, but all sound was muffled and blurred, because all I could focus on was the drone of Porcelina.
The person (or, well, mass of cells) tried again, but it was just another incoherent mumble.
Finally their face swallowed my sight, and I was forced to pay attention.
I recognized her, of course. But I didn't care about her at the moment, I was past caring about anything.
"Oh, God, you stink. This whole apartment stinks. Jesus, you'll have to bleach the place to get this awful smell out." She wrinkled her nose. "It smells like beer and cigarettes and BO all packaged in one rotting plastic garbage bag."
I didn't reply. I was fascinated with her wrinkled nose. A scrunched up nose looks so weird and alien, and I wondered why I had never noticed just how funny it looked before. There were so many lines and crinkles, it was almost like art. If I stared hard enough, maybe I'd see a picture.
"How long have you been here?" Her wrinkled nose unwrinkled, to my disappointment. "We've all been worried, we thought you might have been dead or something. You've ignored everyone. Jesus, Mason, what the hell is wrong with you? Don't you care about us? Why do you have to put us through shit like this? Say something, dammit!"
She buried her face into her hands, crying softly. I was uncomfortable.
Finally, when I had built up enough energy, I let out a sigh. She looked up at me, her face splotchy. Her nose was red, and was wrinkled again.
"I don't know." I said, my voice cracking. I hadn't used it in a while. Voices are like an instrument you have to tune. If you let it collect dust from under use, or you strain it from overuse, you have to take a bit of time to retune it.
"What's wrong with you?" She searched my face, her eyes studying me. I was a stone wall, and I wasn't letting her pierce my defenses. She reached a tentative hand and touched my face. I suddenly became aware of the hair on my face. Oh. I had a beard.
"Are you sick?" She placed a cool hand on my forehead.
"I don't know."
"Why are you here?"
"This is where I live."
"No, I mean, why are you here now, in this bed? Lying here and wasting away?"
"Oh. I don't know."
"Have you eaten? You look so thin."
"Oh. No."
"Get up. You need to eat and take a shower."
"I can't."
"You can't what?"
"Get up."
"Yes, you can. Get your lazy ass up."
"No."
"Yes, dammit." She grabbed my shirt and yanked, dragging me over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. I was in a state of shock, a sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through me.
I stood, my legs shaking. And I just as soon fell back down again. The blood had rushed to my head, who screamed in protest.
I had been lying there for so long, only getting up to go to the bathroom. I had forgotten how to work my arms and legs.
Somehow, I made my way to my window. I was still in a fog, at least with my mind I was. There was a face right outside my window, and I suddenly remembered why I had put myself on bed rest.
"What?" She stood behind me, but her voice sounded a million miles away. "I don't see anything, what are you staring at?"
"Nothing," I shrugged. The face outside the window winked at me, grinning viciously. "Just....nevermind."
I closed the window, shaking my head.
I turned around, my back to the window. She smiled and tugged at my shirt, leading me to the bathroom. I guess I did really need a shower.
I glanced back, checking to see if the face was still at the window. It wasn't. I knew that, of course, because the face was crawling on the ceiling now.
"Okay," I started to say. "Okay, okay, okay."
I kept repeating okay. I knew what was happening. I knew why she was here, what she wanted. The voices had been telling me for days. But I didn't want to go.
"Okayokayokayokayokayokayokayokayokayokay!" I whispered. She didn't hear me, didn't look at me. Instead she pushed me into the bathroom, tossing some clean clothes in with me. She told me to shower and said she was heading out to get me something to eat.
I did as I was told.
Except when she got back, grinning with a paper bag full of greasy heart disease, I wasn't there.